


dream a little dream of me

by architecture_in_f1ll0ry



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Voyeurism, aaravos' voice AMIRITE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22973104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/architecture_in_f1ll0ry/pseuds/architecture_in_f1ll0ry
Summary: Viren, plagued by insomnia, finds himself persuaded to seek some momentary stress relief in a rather unorthodox way.
Relationships: Aaravos/Viren (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 166





	dream a little dream of me

**Author's Note:**

> lol so my first tdp fic is viravos smut, who saw that coming? not me! hints of virrow if you really squint. I literally dgaf about plot here if that wasn't obvious!!

He knew what Harrow would say if he knew.

Times like these he missed his old friend to the point that he could hardly breathe, missed the way he’d just glance at Viren, eyebrows quirked, mouth set in a half-amused, half-concerned line. He could see the slight shake of his head, locs shifting against his broad shoulders. The put-upon sigh, the firm grasp of the king’s hand against his arm. 

_“Viren, what are you doing?”_

He wasn’t sure when, exactly, he’d lost his way, but he was so far from the path that it seemed pointless to even attempt to right himself. 

Besides, hadn’t he discovered new depths of his power that never could have hoped to, before? Before, when his children smiled openly at him, free of fear or shame or confusion. Before, when he took genuine pleasure in the embrace of his wife, whose face he can now barely remember, all those memories reduced to bitter ash. Before, when he didn’t need to conceal his true appearance, before the magic that now felt as natural as breathing ever burrowed its way into his very core: he was bright and free, once. Lighter. More naive.

_“Are you so sure about that?”_ Damn Harrow and his ability to see right through Viren, even in death. Though it didn’t prevent his death, come to that. The irony made Viren chuckle, though it climbed from his throat in a hoarse sob.

He buried his head in his hands, clutching tightly at his hair, jaw clenched. Another sleepless night, his chamber utterly black and still. He had to trust in himself, now. He had no other choice. What purpose did he serve, if not to protect the realm? But how was he to protect, if the people refused to listen?

There it was, again: that _weight_. The mantle of responsibility that was his to bear, now, because the others couldn’t. They lacked true power, they were soft and weak, beholden to fear and doubt and the meaningless ephemera of their pathetic little lives, their vision too clouded to see what real sacrifice looked like. He, Viren, had suffered loss and betrayal, a hapless victim to the frailties of human existence until he fully perfected his craft, his one stronghold against the constant tempest that was his life: his magic. Dark magic, some called it, but he'd long stopped caring one way or the other about that designation. He had no use for purity for purity’s sake, not at his age, not after all he’d seen. Lives were lost every day; this was the way of the world. It was a price he was willing to pay. Even if Harrow’s voice still echoed in his ear, warning him otherwise. Harrow was just a ghost, still taunting him with his absence. 

From the corner of his eye, a gentle violet glow. The mirror. Viren tensed, heart thrumming with the peculiar blend of fear and excitement that the sight of this strange new apparition always inspired. Perched at the end of his bed, body angled slightly away from the mirror, Viren remained still, but couldn’t help the way his eyes darted right, picking up on a smooth movement behind the glass. He still knew nothing about this creature aside from his name, all attempts to learn more maddeningly foiled by a magic he couldn’t identify. It was a blow to his pride as much as it was a siren call to his insatiable curiosity, and it was this that prevented him from shattering the damned glass to pieces, sweeping them into the fire, flinging the ashes to sea. 

“ _Aaravos_ ,” he mumbled, not really meaning to, but it slipped from his lips all the same. He finally turned, feeling the raw edge of his grief and angst, only a few moments ago so visceral and sharp, start to dissipate like mist. There was something about the creature’s eyes, forever amused, the insouciant curve of his lips, the real power barely concealed in his long, slender frame—it was, it pained Viren to acknowledge, completely intoxicating. Aaravos tilted his head questioningly, eyes flicking downward, then back up to Viren’s face, and the mage realized with a flush of heat that he was much less dressed than usual, wearing only grey satin trousers, an old pair that fit rather snugly. It would look ridiculous for him to put more clothes on now, and besides, what did Aaravos care for a half-dressed human? They had bigger things to concern themselves with. They were humanity’s last defense in the war for their continued survival; well, Viren was. He didn’t actually understand Aaravos’ stake in this, aside from eventual liberation from his mysterious prison, which Viren would be instrumental in. He wasn’t a complete fool, after all. He understood a transactional relationship when he was in one.

He met the elf’s gaze calmly, determined not to show any hint of fluster, despite the deep flush he knew he was sporting in his cheeks, all the way down to his chest. Aaravos quirked an eyebrow and tapped a pointed ear as he leaned elegantly against the mirror’s frame, crossing his arms over his chest. Each movement so graceful, so...viscous, like warm honey being poured from a bottle. Viren shook his head once, partly to displace _that_ alarmingly alluring image from his mind, and partly out of disgust for the small purple bug that was soon to perch on his ear.

He didn’t really mind it, though, which was a problem: this was clearly, objectively, wrong: the slow, creeping slither of the caterpillar up his arm, the sheer vulgarity of the spell that conjured this infernal mouthpiece, but most of all, he didn’t mind it because of what it allowed.

“You cannot sleep,” Aaravos noted, his voice as quiet and rich as ever, spilling over Viren like that same honey, setting his nerves alight. He ignored this, and any other physical responses that were entirely outside of his control.

“Your powers of observation are unmatched,” he quipped, low and gruff. “What do you want?”

“Hmm. Now that’s a complicated question,” came the bemused response, Aaravos pointedly ignoring the half-hearted dig. “You’ll have to be more specific.” How did every word out of this creature’s mouth sound so…so...

Viren didn’t allow himself to complete the thought. “Why are you—” he gestured vaguely at the mirror, realizing he had no idea what Aaravos did when the glass was blank, though he doubted it was sleep. He tried to imagine what he would look like in slumber, lying prone and defenseless, white hair spilled across a pillow like the finest silk. “—here, talking to me now? I thought we'd settled on our plan for the initial attack.”

“That we have,” Aaravos agreed, inclining his head. He waited several beats, just watching Viren in that quiet, assessing way of his. “Consider this a friendly visit, if you like.”

Viren snorted, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. “Oh? I didn’t realize we were friends.”

“Aren’t we, Viren?”

Goosebumps erupted across his back and shoulders at the unexpected sound of his name from that voice, and Viren cleared his throat, utterly flummoxed. He glared at the creature, mouth dry. “Don’t mock me, elf. You still won’t give me any real information about yourself. So, no, we are not _friends_.”

“Pity.” Aaravos did not sound particularly repentant, and the sudden playfulness in his tone set Viren even further on edge. “I rather thought we were becoming close.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Aaravos once again let his eyes drift lazily down Viren’s exposed chest, and released a low chuckle when Viren blushed furiously again. 

“I was asleep,” Viren lied pathetically, hating himself, hating the world, hating his inability to maintain the power in this relationship, or at least, the illusion of it. At the epicenter of his humiliation was the strange thrill that being pinned beneath the elf’s gaze brought; an acute sense of debasement that stole the air from his lungs. It was easy enough to bury during the day, as tightly buttoned up as he always was, assuming his new royal duties beneath the watchful gaze of everyone at court; here, in the inky black night, alone and stripped down, the impulse was much harder to ignore. _What_ impulse? He wondered with a shiver, clenching his fingers into his thighs. Aaravos’ smirk widened, catching the movement.

“You clearly were not, as you just admitted.” He waved an arm in a simple flourish and produced an armchair, into which he sank languidly, and, to Viren’s horror, perched a leg on one of its arms, foot swinging gently as he lowered his head to rest on his fist, elbow propped against his knee. The ankle-length robe shifted, exposing legs that were usually concealed: they were impossibly long and muscled beneath the fitted black pants the elf wore. And his thighs, _gods—_ Viren wrenched his eyes away, swallowing against a rush of saliva that filled his mouth. This was veering into dangerous territory; his exhaustion meant he had no idea whether the silences that stretched between them were as charged as they felt, or if he was letting this unfortunate attraction muddy his senses, either way, this conversation needed to end.

“Well, I was trying to,” he snapped. Tomorrow would be interminable: his day was packed with meetings, councils, war preparations. There were precious few he could trust to delegate tasks to, which left him responsible for overseeing everything he needed done right. “I suppose such concepts as _stress_ are far beneath you.”

“Stress.” Aaravos tested out the word with a tinkling laugh. “How delightfully... _human_ of you.”

“Fuck you.”

Aaravos laughed again, head tilted back, shoulders shaking with mirth. Viren felt his lips twitch, and was barely aware of shifting toward the corner of his bed, now facing the mirror head on. He did not—he could not—fully trust this creature, even though he’d demonstrated incredible power and a willingness to share it with Viren, align himself and his resources to Viren’s goals. But his misgivings grew fainter as he regarded the violet eyes that glittered back at him, as he took in the relaxed slouch of a being whose age and true abilities he still did not know. 

“We will prevail, Viren,” Aaravos assured him, his voice still bearing a hint of amusement. “When our might is combined, well. You’ve seen what we can accomplish.”

“Yes,” Viren admitted, a swell of pride rising in his chest. Those few precious moments that Aaravos melded his magic to Viren’s, the electric thrill of their union, deep and elemental, crackling at the core. In the heat of battle, the sensation took an immediate backseat to the urgency of defeating their foes, but right now, facing each other, the sense memory took on an overwhelming air of illicit intimacy, of passion. “Yes, I—I am grateful, Aaravos. Without you I still would have been in that cell.”

“I told you I will stay with you,” he replied simply. “And yet, you still are troubled.”

“Why do you care?” Viren demanded, suspicious. 

Aaravos raised a shoulder in a slow shrug. “I care.”

Viren was too drained to try and decipher what the elf wasn’t saying. “I should just take a potion,” he muttered, mainly to himself, rubbing his aching eyes. 

“You could.”

When he didn’t continue, Viren looked up, rather startled to find Aaravos watching him with a wicked glint in his eyes. “What?”

“Hmm? I was simply agreeing. You could take a potion. That is certainly an option.” Aaravos’ leg continued to swing idly, and he rested the side of his face more fully on his open palm as he stared through the glass at Viren, lips curled in an innocent smile. 

Something beneath the surface of Viren’s skin itched: there was a subtext here that he wasn’t getting, some joke he wasn’t in on. He wondered idly if the elf’s skin was warm or cool to the touch, then banished the thought from his mind. “You seem to be implying there’s another option.”

Aaravos’ smile sharpened, and he nodded. Then, in a move so brazenly seductive it made Viren choke on a gasp, he opened his legs even wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Whatever he saw in Viren’s expression compelled him to chuckle lowly, with a smugness that set Viren’s blood ablaze.

“What—you can’t _possibly—_ ” Viren choked, spots of color rising in his cheeks as he struggled to string together a coherent thought. He could not, under any circumstances, allow his mind to fully contemplate what Aaravos was insinuating, because he would simply explode. “How dare you insult me in this way?”

_“Insult?”_ Aaravos’ eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise. “I rather thought it was a compliment. I want to...see you.”

_I want to see you._ Had he just said that? Viren gaped silently for a few seconds, skin prickling in delicious fear and anticipation. No, he wasn’t considering this, he couldn’t possibly—he had _never— “_ You want to see me...what, exactly?” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes widened at the heated look he received in response, and he—god _damn_ it—felt his cock begin to stir, filling to hardness in his loose pants. This couldn’t be…

“Viren,” Aaravos rumbled softly, leaning slightly forward, as if wanting to close the distance between them. “You know _exactly_ what I am implying. At least, a part of you does.” His eyes flicked downward, to the sizable bulge in Viren’s crotch, which was impossible to conceal. “Touch yourself. You want to.”

He did, he did want to. But he burned with the presumption, however correct; he chafed at the elf’s absolute unshakeable knowledge that Viren possessed this unholy hunger for him, the secret blown completely open, if it ever was a secret at all. But--what could he do? Deny it? Aaravos couldn’t communicate with anyone else, in this world, for the time being, at least. Who would know about this weakness of his, this desperate desire for depravity? For surrender? Because he did desire it, he craved it, he dreamed of it, ever since the first night he heard that deep, sibilant voice in his ear. _How may I serve you?_ How many times he’d felt his groin tighten at the mere memory; the precious few times he’d let his thoughts wander, indulge in an impossible fantasy of corporeal touch, of being utterly possessed, being taken in the most filthy and deplorable ways? 

“I—” Viren closed his eyes against a rush of arousal so powerful it nearly flattened him. “Yes, I do, I— _fuck_.”

Aaravos hummed, pleased. “Then stop denying yourself, my dear.”

Viren bit back a moan at the unexpected endearment, breath hitching in his chest as he worked a hand into his pants, shuddering as he brushed gentle fingers against his aching hardness. This would be over incredibly fast. Feeling Aaravos’ eyes on him as he slowly pleasured himself, legs widening on a breathy sigh, was stoking a fire within him that threatened to rage out of control, sweat beading on his forehead and in the small of his back, despite the chilled air of his chamber. He felt the front of his pants dampen and swiped his thumb across the slit, spreading the wetness up and down the shaft as he jacked himself slowly. 

“Viren.” Was it his imagination, or did the elf’s voice sound a bit shakier than usual? He forced his eyes open, not slowing down his movements as he took in Aaravos’ slackened mouth and lidded gaze, eyes trained on Viren’s crotch. “I told you I wanted to see you.” He licked his lips again, then bit the bottom one, which coaxed another spurt of precum from Viren’s tip. “Come closer, let me see.”

Viren stood and walked closer to the mirror, obediently dropping his trousers and kicking them off before settling into a chair, nearly mirroring Aaravos’ position. He couldn’t look away from the elf as he opened his legs and wrapped a trembling hand around himself once more, lips falling open on a silent whine as he squeezed and stroked, spreading the slick that leaked steadily from the tip. Aaravos watched him hungrily, finally lowering a hand to massage at the growing bulge between his legs, uttering the most guttural, filthy moan Viren had ever heard directly into his ear. 

“It’s been so very long,” Aaravos sighed, sounding as if he were on the edge of bliss, “since I’ve lain with someone, touched them, tasted them—”

“You aren’t— _ah!—_ doing any of those things right now,” Viren couldn’t help but point out, not without a hint of bitterness, even as he struggled to breathe, to speak normally. He wanted to climb into that damned mirror and directly into Aaravos’ lap, he wanted to feel crushed beneath his weight, he wanted--he _wanted_.

“Oh, I know, dear one, but I can imagine.” Aaravos grinned, then dropped his head back on a low groan as he jerked his hips up, pressing himself more fully into his palm. “Can’t you?”

“Yes,” Viren sighed, nodding helplessly, wanting those indigo-violet fingers absolutely everywhere. He felt ravenous with greed as he fondled the tight drum of his balls with his other hand, skin burning with the shame of his own need. “Gods, I...want you to—”

“Yes?” Aaravos murmured warmly, teeth flashing in a salacious grin as he watched Viren fall apart. “Tell me.”

Viren flushed impossibly hotter, the images that flew across his mind—an authoritative hand, pressing him flat as he was plundered deeply, that smirking mouth in places he’d never had a mouth before, deep, desperate, drunken kisses up against the wall in the throne room—momentarily shorting his brain. “I can’t,” he mumbled helplessly, shaking his head. Speaking these things out loud was more than he could bear. He didn't know what might happen, should he allow those floodgates to open.

“No matter, my dear,” Aaravos said, almost reassuringly, as if he'd expected Viren’s reticence. “We have time. You’re doing beautifully. Do you want to come for me?”

Viren’s thighs trembled with the effort of staving off his orgasm, looming huge and incandescent. “Y...es,” he hissed, trying unsuccessfully to swallow a broken moan.

“Let me _hear_ you, Viren,” he commanded roughly. “Don’t hold back.”

“ _No_ , no, I...I can’t—”

“Yes." His tone brooked no argument, warm and undeniably firm. "Come for me, now. I want to see you, I want to hear you.”

Gods, _fuck_ , that voice, Aaravos’ voice, in his ear—Viren was powerless, a loud, strangled shout leaving his throat as he shot stripe after hot stripe of cum over his stomach and chest, the smaller spurts landing on his fingers, his wrist. He panted softly in the darkness, heart racing, eyes clenched shut tight against the echoes of his ragged cry, which now seemed to mock him in its desperate sincerity. It wasn’t until he heard Aaravos’ moan, low and long, that he snapped his eyes open, drinking in the sight of the elf’s back arched in clear ecstasy, hand clenched against his pulsing cock, still trapped invisibly beneath his trousers. He licked his lips without thinking, imagining how it might taste...when Aaravos opened his eyes, he gave Viren a lazy, satisfied smirk, tossing his hair out of his eyes. He was the most beautiful creature Viren had ever seen, and now he knew what he looked like when he came. This would...complicate their new alliance, in ways Viren had not considered before shoving his hand into his pants while the elf watched.

“Will you sleep now?” Aaravos asked lightly, and before Viren could struggle to form a response, his image faded to black, leaving Viren to regard his own reflection: gleaming with sweat, eyes wide open, softened cock resting against his thigh, ejaculate cooling all over him. Disgusted, he stood and cleaned himself off before slumping into bed, still naked, too exhausted to consider more clothes.

And then a peculiar thing happened: the moment his head touched the pillow, his eyes opened, and it was morning. Confused, he sat up, feeling more rested than he had in weeks, and quickly scanned the floor for evidence of last night’s activity. The grey satin pants were not in a crusted heap on the ground as they should have been, but rather—he pulled the covers back and grimaced—still very much on his body, and very much filled with the evidence of a rather vivid dream.

So. Just a dream, then. Just an extremely realistic sex dream about the mystery elf that lived in his mirror. Whose orgasm face and sounds were now committed to memory—or, dream memory, at least. The fact that Viren didn’t actually know if they were real was more troubling than it should have been, considering he shouldn’t have been having dreams like that in the first place. Fuck, he was losing it. Resolutely ignoring the stickiness at his groin, he released a growl of frustration, scrubbing his stubbled face with his hands. He would have to compartmentalize this like he’d never compartmentalized before: lock the dream away and simply resolve to never think of it again. He could not be blamed for an attraction he couldn’t control, but what he could control was his reaction, as well as his interactions with Aaravos. Violet eyes flashed in his memory, a wicked grin, those spread, muscled thighs—

A knock came at the door, and Viren started, cheeks pink. He cleared his throat and stood, grabbing a robe and tying it securely around himself, glancing at the mirror. Aaravos was slowly coming into view, also in his robe and hood, much to Viren’s relief. He inclined his head at Viren, then flicked his eyes towards the door. Yes. Good. Nothing appeared amiss. 

“What is it?” Viren called.

“Lord Viren, the emissaries from Evenere are approaching. They will be here within the hour.”

“Thank you. I will be there shortly.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Viren took a silent breath to himself before turning to Aaravos, who regarded him with a placid expression. He tapped his ear, and Viren crossed to his desk, plucking the purple caterpillar from its jar and placing it on his earlobe. 

“The plan is in motion,” the elf remarked. “They are here early, as you predicted. They are desperate.”

“Yes,” Viren agreed, picking up piles of parchment and flipping through them so as to have something to do with his hands. His dream kept returning to him in flashes—subconscious fantasy or not, he couldn’t believe how willingly he'd exposed himself, how _wanton_ he'd been— “They will be the easiest to fold.”

“Indeed.” Aaravos sounded pleased. “Did you sleep well? You seem...rested.”

The papers fluttered from Viren’s hands, and he nearly spluttered in consternation. Face burning, he rearranged them into a neat pile, heart drumming so loudly he felt certain it was audible. He didn’t know. It was a dream. It was just a dream. “I did.”

But...how much did Viren _actually_ know about Aaravos’ abilities? He would be a fool to put anything past him. He couldn’t really have...and then allowed Viren to think...the idea was unbearable.

The silence stretched between them until Viren couldn’t stand it, and he finally turned to see the elf watching him with his trademark maddening smirk, belying nothing and everything. He tried desperately to school his features into a neutral, slightly puzzled expression, but could barely focus on the task while his pulse echoed loudly in his ears. 

“Excellent,” Aaravas finally responded, in a voice that was more like a purr. Viren tried and failed to hide a shudder at the sound, resisting the sudden urge to flick away the creature perched on his ear. With a sinking feeling, he realized his impossible position: he would either need to confess to having this dream, or suffer silently each time he felt a stirring of desire, which was—if he was being honest with himself—much more often than he cared to admit. If he thought Aaravos’ natural disposition was infuriatingly seductive before, he would be downright insufferable now. 

Raising an eyebrow, Aaravos watched Viren grapple with his thoughts. “Something the matter, Viren?” he murmured. 

“No,” came the curt reply. He was needed, he had duties to attend to. “I’m fine.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> narrator's voice: viren was NOT, in fact, fine


End file.
